


Separable

by Zhie



Series: Bunniverse [48]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8759797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, the twins were not best friends.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Before anyone panics - I am quite aware that technically, I should not use 'Finrod' and 'Fingon' while using 'Ambarussa' and 'Artanis' - but I've come to the conclusion that the only way I'll get things loaded here within this decade is to ignore that for now, transplant all the things here on AO3, and then, maybe, go back and sync up names. Maybe. Probably not, to be honest. So if that bothers you lots, hard pass on this one. If you're cool with it, do keep reading. (This character study was started on March 23, 2012 and finished on December 5, 2016. Might seem a long time for such a short piece, but there's a lot more to this than what's there. This is for my Skype family - you know who you are - I love you guys <3)

When finally the members of the Feanorian clan wandered off in various directions throughout the library, Fingon checked over his shoulder to see if Finrod was watching, then beckoned for the Ambarussas to step closer to the desk he was at.

They walked over together, yet apart: The elder took his steps at a leisurely pace, while the younger paused at displays to skim the books, then hurried to catch up. They reached Fingon simultaneously, and he looked them up and down. “Does your mother make you do this, or is it by choice?”

The younger rocked on his heels; the older crossed his arms with a sigh. “She likes to see us like this, so, we indulge her.” They were wearing matching doeskin tunics with fringe dangling from the sleeves and the bottom hem; the tunics mirrored each other, so that one tied on the left and the other on the right. Their trousers matched; a darker brown leather compared to the caramel of the tunics, and their boots matched as well. The only other deviation was that the younger left his hair down, and the elder had his braided back with thin strips of olive colored leather. 

“And I like to tell people who ask if we are twins that we are not and just happened to have the same remarkable fashion sense.” The younger spied a scribe a few tables away and wandered to see what they were doing. At this opportunity, the elder leaned down to beg Fingon, “Please find an excuse for me to come home with you tonight. Anything. I would even offer to clean your room, fluff your pillows, make your bed--”

Fingon chuckled at the juvenile, then shook his head. “Ah, I, uhm, have a maid who stops in once a week, Ambu. Though I appreciate the offer.. and anyhow, should someone come home with me, it would probably be your oldest brother.”

“What if I bring him along,” whispered the elder while his brother followed someone who looked important down one of the aisles.

Again, Fingon looked over his shoulder. He was yet alone at the desk. “I only have one bed,” he whispered back.

“I can sleep on the porch.”

“My house lacks a porch,” answered Fingon bemusedly.

“Fine, the roof, the cellar, behind the outhouse -- point to a spot and you will not hear a peep. You and Maedhros can frolic about however you like and I shall reveal nothing.”

Slowly Fingon nodded. Had not it been Finrod not all that many years before who had indulged him every time he asked to let him come over - or pretend to - when he needed a reprieve? He did not know what the reason was, but never had either of his twin cousins given him grief, and he certainly saw no harm in aiding one of them. “We could say you are coming by so that I can teach you some Sarati,” he suggested.

“Oh, perfect, that would never anger my father,” said the red-head quickly. 

Fingon cringed. “Right, right… well, looking never hurt, right?”

The Ambarussa before him pouted.

“Well, what, then? We need a good story.”

“I will just suggest to Maedhros that we take a ride, and then we shall make our way to your house, and then I can have some… peace,” he finished, his voice dropping once more to a whisper as his brother approached once again.

Fingon smiled. “See you…” He furrowed his brow when one gave him a confused look, and the other, a glare, both expressions unseen by the other brother. “...next time?” he quickly amended. 

“Oh, are we going?” asked the younger. “So soon?”

“Yes, I see nothing here I want. Let us get some fresh air,” answered the elder abruptly as Maglor came around the corner with a stack of sheet music he wished to borrow.

\-----

“I almost missed it on my way,” admitted the elder elf who answered to Ambarussa. 

“I told you it was small,” said Fingon as he opened the door to allow Ambarussa in. He peered out after Ambarussa had entered, and frowned to see no one else was there.

“Maedhros would not come,” he apologized. “He said he had work to do.”

Fingon tried not to seem too disappointed as he shut the door. “I did set something up under the bed, expecting that you might stay the night.” The cabin was tiny, and barely could it be called a cabin. It was a single, small residence - smaller than any of the dormitory rooms that Fingon stayed in when he was actively competing as a gymnast. There were two windows, each of them with a box attached to the outside where herbs and vegetables grew, easily accessed when either window was opened. There was a small fireplace, and small was all that was needed for the space. There was a ladder near the door, and this led up to an alcove that was indented into the room. Curtains were held back to reveal a cozy nest of pillows and throws where Fingon slept, but he had taken some of them down to the floor and set up a second spot just underneath. “Not much, but no one will bother you - not even me if you tell me to shut up.”

“You are the very least of my worries.” Ambarussa removed his cloak and hung it on a hook attached to the back of the door. His clothing was different from earlier - it was more unique, and more colorful, and likely was not anything like whatever his twin brother was currently wearing. “Goodness, Fingon, it is freezing in here! Do you mind if I build a fire?” asked Ambarussa.

“Go ahead.” Fingon sat back down at a small desk in front of one of the windows. “How did you manage to convince your father to allow you to leave if Maedhros did not come with you?”

Ambarussa was already setting wood into the grate. “I told him the truth. I explained that if I stayed one more day in that house, I was apt to throttle my younger brother. This seemed to resonate with him on a personal level.”

Fingon swallowed his laughter. “And how did he take that?”

“He said he would look the other way no matter which choice I made.” Ambarussa lit the kindling and then closed the wrought iron doors. “I decided my mother would be less pleased if she had to tend to another black eye, and so I ventured here. I understand if you do not want me here long - I did promise to bring the taller, more attractive ginger.”

“You can stay,” said Fingon. “I never realized that you and your brother did not get along.”

“When you only have the opportunity to be the youngest in the family for three minutes, there tends to be some amount of residual animosity. It is not that I hate him,” said Ambarussa quickly, “I just want to be my own person, not the older half of a set of twins - and the twin who is constantly told to grow up and know better when the other is babied and coddled. He takes full advantage of it, and while I cannot blame him, it does frustrate me.”

Fingon listened and nodded. “That does sound annoying. Do you… want to talk about it?”

“Actually, no.” Ambarussa sat down on the stool next to the desk - the only other place to sit in the tiny house. “Odd.”

“What is?”

“I have vented to very few people about this. When I do, they all say the same thing, and quite frankly, I do not believe them.”

Fingon finished addressing a letter he had been writing before Ambarussa came. After it was placed in the envelope and tucked into one of the compartments to be sent later, he turned his focus on his cousin. “What does everyone else say?”

“They tell me they understand. Then they tell me things will get better.”

Fingon drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Unless you have been talking to someone who has a younger twin, I am not sure how they can say they understand - I cannot say that. Yes, I have younger brothers, but the circumstances are different. I am the eldest, so sometimes I can commiserate with Maedhros or Finrod, but most of the time, I just have to nod, pat them on the back, and offer moral support. I am also not going to tell someone things will get better - unlike Finrod and Artanis, I have little ability in foresight, and I would not idly claim things even if I did.”

“I can see why Maedhros likes you so much.”

Fingon smiled. “Good to know, because I like him a great deal. We should return to your problems, though. The offer stands, should you want to talk about anything. I cannot say I will have advice to offer, but I can listen, and I am not going to be judgemental.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” said Ambarussa after a moment of silence. “I do not think I want to talk right now. Maybe later.”

Fingon nodded. “Well, you are here now, and I did stop at the market, so we have food for the evening and the morning - and certainly I cannot eat it all myself. So… want to learn some Sarati?” he asked.

Ambarussa gave his cousin a sly smile. “I would love that.”


End file.
